Birdie's Book Read online

  Then I noticed a gerbera daisy in a pot in the far corner. (TRIBE: MUTISIEAE, GENUS: GERBERA, read the sign beside it.) It reminded me of Belle, although she was a simplex, not a gerbera, of course. The daisy was starting to droop, so I reached into my backpack and pulled out my bottled water.

  “There you go, little lady,” I said as I gave her a nice long drink. Almost instantly, the daisy’s thirsty leaves perked up. “You’d probably like to hear a song as well, but I’m new here and don’t want to look too strange,” I whispered.

  I headed to my homeroom, which I could find because of the personal orientation I’d had just a few days earlier. Happily, my homeroom was the classroom of the Latin teacher, Ms. Jones. I hung my green coat and scarf in the cloakroom and then took a seat near the back. I noticed a girl a few rows ahead of me with long blond hair in braids twisted on top of her head. From the back, she looked just like Kerka!

  But she couldn’t be. Right?

  Then the girl turned around, and my jaw just about hit the floor. “Kerka?” I asked.

  “Birdie?” she said. I noticed she had an accent here in the real world.

  “How—I am so glad you’re here!” I exclaimed.

  “Me too! It is a wonderful surprise!” Kerka was beaming, as I must have been.

  “Welcome to a new semester, a new year,” Ms. Jones announced. “We have two new students who’ve joined us, and I’d like to start off by asking them to tell us a bit about themselves.” She nodded first to Kerka.

  As my friend stepped to the front of the room to introduce herself, I felt for the Singing Stone in my pocket. It was smooth all around the edges, and I moved my fingers gently across the etching. I knew the Glimmer Tree branches and every turn of that maze by heart.

  I gave Kerka a great big smile. It was going to be a very good year.

  I could be considered a late bloomer, but I just think of it as one continuous bloom over many years. The long wait to fulfill this dream has allowed time to have the blessing of a very large family, some of whom I birthed and others of whom I inherited or picked up along the way. Thank you to those who call me Gigi—my amazing, creative, and sweet family of children, grandchildren, stepchildren, nieces and nephews, and adopted small souls: Shane, Evan, Dustin, Lucy, Casey, Bella, Kailey, Kirian, Emma, Cameron, Andrea, Noelle, Ben, Julian (the Boo), and Indira. I have learned everything worth knowing by loving and being loved by you.

  I would like to thank the following people for helping to shape me on the path of my life: Ray Sr., Dora, Sherry (Sissy Lucha) and Ray Jr. (June Bug), Aunt Lita and Uncle Louie, my godparents, and Aunt Bet. They handed down stories from our own Welsh and Cuban families and encouraged me to vision and write. There are friends who generously hoped I was on to something—for years and years: Rob Sides, Jana Dezeeuw, Alan Shapiro, LG, Meredith. Thanks to Jesyca Durchin for thinking my songs were good and putting them into everything. Thanks to my mentor, Doug Glen, who convinced me to trust in the conscience of the marketplace.

  Hugs to my literary agent, Marcy Posner, who simply “took a chance” on an unknown writer and I think is glad she did. Thanks and blessings to my editor, Mallory Loehr, who was eight months pregnant with her little girl when she saw the value in the idea of the female lineages.

  I want to thank my three sons, Shane, Evan, and Dustin, for their creative contributions of music, art, and Web design to the project. To Andrea Burden, who is a fairy queen in real life, I offer my deepest respect for her amazing artwork. I am forever in debt to my man spirit, Robert Skiles, who taught me to sing through a train wreck and write from the soul every day. Thanks to my helper fairies: John Salas (Don Quixote), Lurleen Ladd, and Jan Wieringa. I offer my most gracious thanks to Linda Lowery Keep, who invited me to journey to San Miguel Allende for guidance and writing.

  I am so excited about my new book family at Random House Children’s, where a whole company supports the wisdom of wisdom and the beauty of giving voice to the inner life of girls.

  And finally, I want to acknowledge all the girls I have met along the way who have read my stories or sung my songs from London to Toronto to Texas. You are the first class of the Fairy Godmother Academy, a very prestigious group of flames who will light up the world in the future. I do this for you. I hope you will share your own stories and songs with your children someday.

  About the Author

  Jan Bozarth was raised in an international family in Texas in the sixties, the daughter of a Cuban mother and a Welsh father. She danced in a ballet company at eleven, started a dream journal at thirteen, joined a surf club at sixteen, studied flower essences at eighteen, and went on to study music, art, and poetry in college. As a girl, she dreamed of a life that would weave these different interests together. Her dream came true when she grew up and had a big family and a music and writing career. Jan is now a grandmother and writes stories and songs for young people. She often works with her own grown-up children, who are musicians and artists in Austin, Texas. (Sometimes Jan is even the fairy godmother who encourages them to believe in their dreams!) Jan credits her own mother, Dora, with handing down her wisdom: Dream big and never give up.

  Turn the page for an excerpt from Kerka’s Book!

  Coming December 2009!

  (Dear Reader, please note that the following excerpt may change for the actual printing of Kerka’s Book.)

  Excerpt copyright © 2009 by FGA Media Inc. Published by Random House Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  From Kerka’s Book

  The three mountains were still some distance away, and I had to crane my neck to see the peaks. The golden glow over the tops of the Three Queens shone brilliantly even in daylight. With no other clues to consider, instinct and logic told me to head toward the mountains.

  A clickety-click sound grabbed my attention just as something grabbed my left boot. Startled, I looked down. A six-inch crablike creature had clamped on to my foot with a large claw. The crab’s eyes, which were attached to floppy three-inch stalks, stared back at me like those of a small alien. The other claw made a clicking noise as the creature repeatedly opened it and snapped it closed. My boot’s leather was thick enough to protect my toes from the crab’s pincers, but shaking my foot didn’t dislodge the little beast. I didn’t want to harm it, but I couldn’t continue my journey with a passenger dangling from my boot. I would have thought a creature made of glass would be a little more careful about who it grabbed!

  “You’ve bitten off way more than you can chew, little guy.” I shook my finger at the creature as I scolded it. Then I blinked and smiled, inspired by my own words. “But I have something that’s much tastier than my boot.”

  Being careful not to poke the water pods, I opened the food pack, broke off a small piece of what looked like a cake made of sunflower seeds, and carefully placed it on top of my boot. The crab’s eyes atop their floppy stalks stopped jiggling as they studied my offering, but the crab didn’t let go or try to grab the cake. Anxious to get moving, I tried stamping my heel to jar the creature loose, but the claw clamped down tighter, and it hung on.

  The crab’s one-claw clickety-click taunt became a noisy clatter as more crabs suddenly swarmed to join the chorus. Interestingly enough, not a single one skittered near the rocks.

  I was wondering if I would have to just break its little claw off—hoping that it would grow a new one like the stingray—when I tried one last idea. Walking on the heel of my left boot so I wouldn’t break the crab, I slowly made my way to a large rock. As soon as I climbed onto it, the crab let go of my boot, dropped into the sand, and scurried back to the crab-creature colony.

  From here I was right beside the stone wall. The moss was more of a slime—so although there appeared to be places where I could put a hand or foot, the wall was too slippery to climb. Switching the heavy coat to my other arm, I jumped to the next big rock. I headed down the beach this way, looking for a break in the stone wa
ll. I had to get over it to reach the Three Queens.

  Suddenly I remembered the knotted wind rope. I couldn’t climb the barrier, but a strong wind could carry me over—as the Redbird Wind had flown Birdie and me across miles of Aventurine. I opened the blue drawstring pouch and pulled out the rope. Just as I was about to touch the first knot, I asked myself: Was it wise to use one of the magic knots so soon?

  I put the rope back in its pouch. Then I took a piece of cake from the other pouch and nibbled as I continued jumping from rock to rock. I found cracks between boulders here and there, but they were too narrow for anything except a butterfly flying sideways to squeeze through. Looking up, I realized that the stone wall blocked my view of the Three Queens. On the off-chance that seeing the crowned peaks would give me a brainstorm, I jumped off the rocks.

  I braced to jump back on in case any silvery crabs attacked me from the sand. Keeping an eye out, I hurried down the beach, walking away from the rocks until the golden peaks of the three mountains were visible. From here, I could also make out three distinct paths leading away from the piles of rocks: One went straight and the others branched to the left and right. Each path was obviously a route to one of the Three Queens, and each path was blocked by a pair of humungous boulders.

  One of the mountains was the key to completing my quest and making my dream come true, but which one? I had no information, no map to help me decide, and not even a friend to talk to about it.

  A shrill whistle rang out as pebbles and small rocks tumbled down the boulder barrier.

  “Who’s there?” I yelled.

  Suddenly a small man jumped over the stone wall. Standing two feet tall and wearing what I thought of as basic elf clothing—red cap, brown leggings, a green coat, and black boots—he watched me from atop a large rock. His pointed ears were too long to fit under his cap.

  I was sure he was an elf. He looked seriously grumpy, and I tried not to be too worried. In Finnish folklore, disturbing an elf is almost as bad as insulting or cheating one.

  The elf’s ears twitched when he cocked his head. I just stared back until he somersaulted off his perch. The little man rocked up onto his feet and zipped across the sand, moving so fast I saw only a blur of red and green, like a piece of Christmas gone crazy. He skidded to a halt in front of me.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Who’s who? And who are you?” the elf answered in a squeaky lilt. Then he added with a smirk, “As if I didn’t know!”

  I wasn’t sure whether to tell him my name—which would give the elf the upper hand—or to call his bluff, which might not be a bluff.

  “Who am I, then?” I asked with an impish grin, and crossed my arms, daring him. I knew that elves have a habit of getting even by doing something ten times worse than what was done to them. But they also like to be amused and entertained—that’s what I was shooting for.

  The elf jumped up and down and spoke in jumbled rhyme. “The name I choose is Kerka Laine. So I win, you lose, I know your name.”

  My mouth dropped open, but I quickly closed it. The fairies must have told him to expect me.

  “Don’t hesitate or you’ll be late!” The elf leaned toward me, his brow furrowing. “Your task must be finished, over and done, before the Three Queens’ glow disappears in the sun.”

  He waved his hand.

  “By morning?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Maybe.” The elf shrugged.

  I asked a different question, hoping to get a clearer answer. “How long do I have?”

  “Tomorrow, today. It’s hard to say.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked as evenly as I could. I couldn’t let myself get riled up by this little guy.

  The elf threw up his hands. “Sometimes the sun rises, sometimes it blinks on. Or takes the day off, and there isn’t a dawn.” Then he concluded in an ominous tone: “In Aventurine, anything goes, and no one, but no one, ever knows.”

  I exhaled slowly. So no one in Aventurine knew when the golden glow on the Three Queens would be lost in sunlight, because the sun didn’t always follow the rules. But it didn’t matter. I still had to find my little sister’s voice before dawn, whenever it happened. I had to have time to finish. Otherwise, my mission would be a fool’s errand, and Queen Patchouli was no fool. But now I had to go as fast as possible in case there was exactly enough time and not a minute more, which brought me back to my original problem.

  “Thank you,” I said to the elf. “That is very helpful information. So can you tell me which path I should take?” I asked as respectfully as I could, trying to get elf points. “You seem to know so many things.”

  “What trade can you make?” the elf asked.

  In stories, elves never do something for nothing, and they are willing to barter for both honor and treats. It was a good thing the Willowood fairies had given me food for the journey. “I have a honey bar.” I took a bar from my pouch and held it out.

  “Secondhand fairy food? That’s rude!” he said with a look of disdain.

  “It’s perfectly good and very sweet!” I said, a little taken aback.

  The elf leaned toward me again. “You can give a fairy’s gift away, but not for a bargain on any day.”

  “Really?” I asked, truly surprised. “I had no idea. Well, I don’t have anything to trade, then. The fairies gave me everything I have, except my backpack.”

  The elf sniffed. “One more thing is yours to give—your Kalis stick will always live.”

  I was starting to feel a little grouchy myself. “I’ll get lost in Aventurine or risk being expelled forever before I’ll part with my Kalis stick,” I said. This actually seemed to be the right tone for the elf.

  “So wise are you, and honorable, too.” The elf paused, rubbing his pointy chin as he considered our dilemma. “No trade means I cannot tell you which path to take, but I’ll give a hint for a favor’s sake.”

  “So if I do you a favor, we’re even?” I asked.

  The elf nodded. “Take a message to my brother, then nothing more will we owe one another.”

  “And how will I find him?” I could not agree to anything that would take time or divert me from my quest.

  “He’ll find you if your path be true,” the elf answered.

  “Then I agree,” I said.

  The elf motioned for me to come closer. When I leaned down, he said quietly, as if someone might be listening, “Tell him that if the wind goes free, so will we.”

  “That’s easy enough to remember,” I said.

  Then the elf kept his word and gave me the hint. He pointed to the mountain on the left and said, “Hourling for grace.” Then he pointed to the middle mountain and said, “Dayling for the brave.” He pointed to the last mountain. “Yearling for the serene.” He dropped his arm. “Only one will save your place in Aventurine.”

  I laughed; this was a good hint for me. I was certain I knew what it meant. The Kalis sticks my mother gave my sisters and me each had a letter carved into them, but the letters didn’t match our names. Aiti had said only: “You will know why when the time is right.” The time was right now—my stick was carved with a D. “I’ll take the path to Dayling,” I said.

  “And the message, too. Don’t forget, will you?” asked the elf.

  “I won’t forget,” I assured him.

  The little man leapt into the air and clapped his hands. He was gone in a flash, laughing as he bounded toward the boulders.

  A thunderous rumbling and grating sound shook the ground. The stone wall was separating, making a space I could slip through. I didn’t know how long it would stay that way, so I slung the coat over my shoulder and ran, blood pounding in my ears and my boots pounding on the sand.

  When I was six feet from the opening, the wall had stopped moving. The opening was barely wide enough for me to squeeze through sideways. With rock pressing me front and back, I sucked my breath in as I forced my way through. My coat dragged on the ground, and the hem caught on something I couldn’t see. I
tugged, then pulled, to free it while I kept squeezing through the narrow opening. I pushed so hard to clear the stones that I landed in a bramble of berries when I fell through the gap.

  The two halves of the wall slammed together behind me.

  I stared at the towering wall with a strange sense of calm. I was out of breath and I was scraped and scratched, but I had survived. My mother had carved a D on my Kalis stick. She must have known I would be making this journey.

  Biba’s voice and my destiny lay ahead—on the mountain called Dayling.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2009 by FGA Media Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

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  Visit www.fairygodmotheracademy.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Bozarth, Jan.

  Birdie’s book / Jan Bozarth. — 1st ed.

  p. cm. — (Fairy Godmother Academy; 1)

  Summary: When twelve-year-old Birdie goes to meet her grandmother, who is

  estranged from Birdie’s mother, she learns a secret which leads to fantastic adventures,

  new understanding, and a renewed closeness among members of her family.